Constant Companions
by Sh1 n0 m1k0
Summary: It always was just the two of us.  Even when the other fools would come along and pledge their loyalty, chasing their deaths.  From the very beginning, it was me and her.  Bound together on this fool's errand.  Not that it wasn't her fault to begin with.


Disclaimer: No Ownies.

_**Constant Companions**_

She would never let me carry her anymore.

"Why bother?" She'd say, and I'd grumble something about moving faster, and she'd only sigh and look to the sky.

"He will come to us," She'd reply, "He always does."

And she was right. So we walked.

It always was just the two of us. Even when the other fools would come along and pledge their loyalty to us, chasing their deaths. From the very beginning, it was me and her. Bound together on this fool's errand. Not that it wasn't her fault to begin with.

But now, we were all that was left.

"Come," She'd say, pushing herself to her feet, "Time to leave."

Things were different now. She was different. She had grown. The years had marched onward as we crossed the wild country, and it showed in her manner.

They were not kind.

Our companions had been with us for many seasons, I'm not entirely sure of the exact count, but it was long enough for us both to become attached to them.

And far to attached we were.

It was on a clear night when we were ambushed, and Sango was taken by the very shell of her own brother. Miroku grieved for months until he one day wandered into the woods alone and never returned.

She finally made the brat stay back with the hag in the village for fear of him being taken, too.

Figures that the village would be overrun with sickness while we were away. Demon, Shippo may have been, but he was still very young. According to the survivors, he overworked himself trying to save the others, but in the end, his exhaustion worked against him.

She cried for a week.

That's when the wandering began. She didn't care where we were going, just as long as we went. We would fend off the attacks as they came, claiming tiny pink shards along the way. She grew and more skilled with her bow, but she took no pride in it, even as I commented as often as I could.

Days ran together as we trudged onward. At some point, she stopped wearing that ridiculous outfit from her world and opted for more traditional robes. When I asked her about it, she only shrugged and claimed that it was more comfortable. Her shoes had fallen apart years ago, so she continued on with bare feet, wrapping them with rags in the winter.

"Why don't you try to go home?" I asked.

"I have no home," She replied.

She traded her things for shelter on nights of the new moon. The first to go was that bicycle-contraption-thing. Then her books, her walkable music machine, drawing papers, colored pencils, candy bars, and the yellow bag itself. Little pieces of her old life – left behind. Not that I'm not grateful. It's just a little weird to see her bartering for my sake with things I argued with her about keeping. I tried to stop her once, but she just gave me this _look_ and continued with the trade.

"They're only things," She'd say.

We would camp when she was tired. She would strike flint for fire, and I would hunt. If there was prey, we ate. If there wasn't, we did not. She would write in her little book – one of the last memories she allowed herself – then look at me with a curt nod.

I'd kick dirt on to the embers as she gathered her things, then hold her close to jump into a suitable tree. I would guard her dreams, the only witness to the occasional tears she still held.

"You don't smile like you used to," I said one night.

"I see no reason to," She replied.

She still drew eyes whenever we came upon a village. Young men would stop working to watch her pass. A few were actually brave enough to try approaching her. They always left after looking into her eyes. Not that I blame them. Every year that passed, they grew more and more empty. When she would turn that blank stare on anything, it would think twice before moving. As I had said, the years had not been kind.

Gone was that innocent spark that she had guarded so carefully in our earlier travels. She had seen life, and she had seen death. Her very hands had supplied life, and her hands had delivered death. The decades had jaded her – and she didn't bother hiding it.

Trapped within a woman's body, she carried on as a ghost of what she was. The similarities to Kikyo that she developed were terrifying. I was afraid that our story would end the same as the one before – unfinished, with only a promise of hell as a prize.

So, one night, as I held her firmly upon a thick branch, I did it.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I know," She replied.

And that was it. We continued on the next morning the exact same way that we had done for the years past. Sometimes I would wonder about that night, trying to see if what I had said had any affect or meant anything to her, but she was still a closed scroll.

Naraku himself ambushed us within the week.

But we had been waiting. We had been waiting for _years._

The fight was long and hard, and if it wasn't for her quick thinking, it would have been short and easy, leaving us dead in the field. It was her expert marksmanship that finally ended it. She waded through the thick fog of poison that remained and plucked the chunk of glowing pink from the ground before making her way back to my side.

She studied the jewel intently, examining the fracture that remained. She raised the final shard to it, and with a minuscule click, it was whole.

"Such a small thing," She murmured, and I saw that she was right. The jewel was no larger than a pebble, cupped lightly in her palm. She closed her dirtied fingers around it and offered it to me.

"It is yours now."

I could feel her watching as I held it, marveling in the light it held. Finally, I looked at her, and our eyes met. Hers were carefully vacant, but I knew better. I raised my prize to my lips.

As I swallowed it, I _wished._

I wished for everything. I wished for nothing. I wished for Sango. For Miroku. For Shippo and Kikyo. I wished for the past. I wished for the future.

But most of all, I wished for _her._

And my world went white.

Now I sit in the Goshiboku, watching her run in her teenager's body – she's about to be late for her train. Her friends beckon from the sidewalk, but she stops. The wind caresses her hair and she turns to look up at me with bright, unburdened eyes.

"I love you," I whisper.

Kagome smiles.

OoooO

A/N: Wouldn't you get tired of it if you had been adventuring for twenty-some years, too? Especially against your will? Thanks for reading.

5h1 n0 m1k0


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